Sunday, 4 June 1978
"I'm going to see Rodolphus today," Lucius announced over breakfast. "Would you care to join me so you can visit your sister?"
Narcissa tilted her head, considering the offer. He could hardly find fault with her for not leaping at the opportunity. "Why are you seeing Rodolphus?" she asked instead, clearly intent on gathering more intelligence on the situation before committing either way.
"He lost a bet on Quidditch last year and owes me his forfeit. He's been conveniently forgetting to bring it with him every time I've seen him for months now, and I've run out of patience so I'm going there to collect it myself."
Narcissa frowned curiously. "Gold?" It was unlike her husband to be concerned to action over such trivial matters.
"No. Something far more valuable, something he certainly should not have gambled on a Quidditch outcome, but I cannot be responsible for his foolish decisions."
"There won't be any dueling over whatever it is, will there?" she asked suspiciously. Lucius shook his head. It was not like his friend to renege upon his word so publicly given and besides, he was a more skillful duelist than Rodolphus anyway. If Bellatrix got involved however...
"Yes, alright, I suppose I'll come as well," she decided at last. "Shall we floo?"
Lucius shook his head. "He's had it disconnected from the network, and recently made it Unplottable as well. We'll have to take a carriage."
It took just under an hour to fly to Windermere to see the Lestranges, about the same time as to London despite the greater distance between Wiltshire and Cumbria. With a far sparser population density of Muggles they were able to take a more direct route and land directly in front of Vengeson House, where the couple resided. On trips to London they were forced to land well outside the city, cast partial Disillusionment charms to make the Abraxans appear wingless, and continue on the ground to their final destination.
The Lestrange's elf admitted them into a vast, dim foyer. It was bleeding and limping as it led them through the darkened entry hall into a Neo-classical drawing room, largely unchanged over the past hundred or so years. At one end the furniture had been cleared, pushed carelessly against the wall, and Bellatrix stood with her hand on the wand of a young, sandy-haired man who appeared to be scarcely out of boyhood. Rabastan hovered nearby, wand in one hand and drink in the other, evidently waiting for Bellatrix to finish whatever instruction she was in the middle of doling out. It seemed the pair had been dueling, and Narcissa shot Lucius a look of warning; after all, she had explicitly confirmed there'd be no fighting when she had agreed to come.
"They're just practicing!" Lucius hissed defensively under his breath at her accusing glance, and she relented with a small quirk of her lips.
"Cissy!" Bellatrix exclaimed in apparent delight at the appearance of her sister. "Try it again boys," she added over her shoulder to the pair as she crossed the room towards the newcomers. Narcissa winced as the blonde boy shot a spell at Rabastan, who staggered out of the way just in time and a vase behind him exploded instead. Bellatrix laughed outright and linked her arm through Narcissa's, steering them back out into the hall. "Come out back if you'd prefer, Roddy is training hellhounds to hunt erklings." She did not bother to greet Lucius, and he found himself vaguely irritated as he trailed behind.
"There are no erklings in the forests around here," Narcissa pointed out as they wove through the house. Bellatrix shrugged.
"He uses the house elf for practice and when they're ready he'll move them to the lodge in Germany." They'd reached the rear of the house at last, and Bellatrix led them out onto a wide balcony. "Roddy!" she called, waving to summon his attention. He waved back to indicate that he'd seen her, then resumed the task at hand. Two of the largest dogs Lucius had ever seen ("Still just puppies," Bella announced) stood at attention on either side of him, tense and focused on something small moving across the far end of the lawn towards the treeline. Rodolphus raised one hand, and the skeletal beasts dropped into a crouch, and when he let his hand fall they took of at incredible speeds, streaking across the grass towards the bobbing house elf. The pair reached their target in seconds, and the slightly faster of the two seized the elf, which gave a long, pitiful wail. At a sharp whistle from Rodolphus, the dog that had not captured the prey dropped into an obedient sit, but the other seemed too excited by its bounty and bounded in an energetic circle. At once a sharp bolt of electricity found its way from Rodolphus's wand to the errant hound; it gave a yelp of its own and sat as well, still holding the elf in its teeth. Even from this distance it was possible to hear Rodolphus's string of swears as he advanced on the disobedient pup. To the one that had obeyed his whistle he carelessly tossed a piece of raw meat, and it trotted off happily; the other, it seemed, was reluctant to surrender its capture. The three on the balcony watched— one impassively, one in amusement, and one rather disgusted— as Rodolphus seized the powerful jaws of the beast and prised them apart, so that the elf could roll out and scuttle away, clasping at new puncture wounds on its side. It seemed for a moment that the hound would attempt to go after it once more, but with a resounding crack Rodolphus struck the dog, knocking it fully to the ground. It scrabbled back to its feet and sat forlornly at its master's boots.
"I'm going to be quite vexed if he kills another elf this way," Bellatrix groused. "Would you two like anything to drink?"
Having kenneled the dogs, Rodolphus came up to join them at last, gleaming with sweat and smelling of tobacco, myrrh, and blood, still panting slightly. "That cur," he growled, ducking to press his lips to his wife's, "is going to drive me to my wit's end. If I can break him he'll be a damn fine hunter though." He shook Lucius's hand warmly and kissed Narcissa's cheek as well, despite her slight grimace at his approach. "Good to see you both. Bash and Barty still at it?" he asked Bellatrix, who nodded.
"They've probably practiced enough for the day though." The group returned to the study find them finished with practice indeed: Rabastan was lying on the floor with a handkerchief stemming the flow of blood from his nose, and Barty was plopped facedown on a couch, his right eye blacked. However he sprang to his feet when they entered; Rabastan merely propped himself up on one elbow and summoned a bottle of gin to refill his glass.
"Cissy, do you know Bartemius Crouch's son? He's just finished his fifth year at Hogwarts," Bellatrix introduced lazily, throwing herself onto a settee. The boy smiled shyly at Narcissa.
"We haven't had the pleasure," Narcissa replied, offering her hand. "But you surely must know my cousin Regulus, he'll be starting his final year in the fall."
"Yeah, I know Regulus," he replied enthusiastically.
"This is my little sister Narcissa," Bellatrix continued the introduction.
"My wife," Lucius added, annoyed. Not, of course, that he would ever be threatened by a schoolboy's obvious admiration of Narcissa, but he was nettled by Bellatrix's dismissal of his claim to her, and presence in general.
"Yes, she has that dubious honour as well," Bellatrix conceded, patting the space beside her as an invitation to have Narcissa join her there. She called the house elf to pour them all drinks, but grew impatient with its slow, ginger movements. Rodolphus kicked it aside and poured the sisters goblets of wine himself, lest she become annoyed with him for keeping the creature from its regular duties. Narcissa subtly tapped hers with her wand to transfigure it to water, a motion Rodolphus unfortunately did not miss.
"Not the right vintage for you, Cissy?" he asked loudly, causing her to flush.
"No, I'm sure it's lovely, I just..."
"Go take a bath and get dressed for dinner," Bellatrix snapped at her husband, sparing her sister from justifying the action. He shrugged and obeyed without argument, and she turned to the youngest boy once more. "Will you be joining us?"
Barty shook his head. "I promised my mother I'd be home, she's usually not well enough to sit in the dining room for meals but when she is she likes the company. It's not as if my father is ever there for her," he added darkly. He bid them farewell, and once he was gone Rabastan came to sit by the remaining three. Bellatrix gave him a haughty look.
"You go get cleaned up too," she commanded, though he'd thoroughly wiped the blood from his face. He rolled his eyes but clearly knew better than to argue with her, and took leave to his rooms as well. She gave Lucius an appraising glare, but evidently decided after a moment that she would not be able to send him off as she had the others and instead elected to ignore the fact that he was there. Which was fine by him— he rose to inspect the collection of books in the room that he very much doubted Rodolphus had ever opened. Though she spoke in an undertone, Bella's words were clearly audible across the room.
"Still no luck then?" she began without preamble. Narcissa must have shaken her head 'no' because Lucius did not hear a reply, and Bellatrix continued. "Well, perhaps it's for the best, you're still awfully young to ruin your figure."
Lucius stiffened at the words and looked over his shoulder to tell her off for the comment, but much to his surprise saw that she was stroking Narcissa's hair comfortingly and his wife was smiling ruefully, seeming to have recognized that she had spoken in jest.
Lucius felt an odd sensation at the sight and turned back to the bookshelf, selecting a volume at random and opening it with feigned interest. Their conversation shifted to their mother— it seemed she'd been ill recently—but Lucius was unable to dislodge the feeling of discomfort that blossomed under his ribcage at the sight of them; a leaden, angry sort of longing ache that he could not immediately name. The longer he dwelt upon it the worse it became, and he tried to focus on the text in front of him as a distraction but everything seemed to blur.
"Interesting reading material for cocktail hour." Lucius turned with a start; he hadn't noticed Rodolphus return. The other man was now looking over his shoulder with amusement, and Lucius glanced down at the page and realized he'd selected a volume on Muggle torture methods during the Spanish Inquisition, and the page he had been staring blankly at for some time now contained a graphic illustration of a woman being mutilated. He closed it with a snap.
"Perhaps if I could just collect what I came here for, my wife and I could be on our way," he retorted. Rodolphus waved a careless hand.
"Very well, if you insist." He drew his wand and reached past Lucius to tap a series of book spines, muttering quietly. The shelf swung forward to reveal an iron door set into the wall with no visible handle. "Still don't understand how you knew the Harpies would do so well last season," he added, summoning a small silver dagger.
"Lucky guess," drawled Lucius. Rodolphus gave a grunt of disbelief and pierced the flesh of his own palm with the knife, and when blood welled to the surface he smeared it across the metal. The door dissolved at once to reveal a small moleskin satchel.
"Well, here you are then," Rodolphus dropped the sack into Lucius's waiting hand, who quickly slipped it into an inner pocket of his robes. "I hope you don't plan to use it for yourself, the world doesn't need you around for an extra century."
Lucius muttered something dark and insulting under his breath that just made Rodolphus laugh and clap him on the shoulder with his still-bleeding hand. "Let's have a game of Exploding Snap, shall we? Bavarian rules."
Lucius cast his gaze to his wife who, with a glance in Rodolphus's direction, gave a tiny shake of her head. "I'm afraid we already have dinner plans back in London with some Ministry contacts and must be heading off. It has been splendid to see the both of you, as always."
"Do you ever get tired of being such an insufferable plutocrat, Malfoy?" Bellatrix yawned, supremely unconcerned as he turned furious eyes towards her.
"Do you ever get tired of—"
"Please don't," Narcissa interrupted quickly, rising to her feet. At her behest he kept the scathing insult to himself, and Bellatrix sniggered obnoxiously.
"Does Cissy always keep you out of trouble?" she goaded, and Narcissa turned to her pleadingly.
"Bella, stop it."
"Or do you just let her fight your battles for you?" she went on, stretching lazily on the settee. Lucius's fingers itched to draw his wand, but he was certain doing so would violate his earlier assurances that there would be no dueling. Instead he called for their traveling cloaks, and ignored Rodolphus apologetic shrug as he swept from the house to their waiting carriage. Narcissa followed a minute later. She seemed put out by how the visit had ended, but held her tongue as she climbed on board and settled onto the plush bench. Lucius glared fruitlessly at a spot on the opposite wall, and for some time they were silent.
"I lied to Bella earlier," Narcissa spoke suddenly. "I am pregnant again."
Lucius's glower vanished at once and he sat up straighter and reached for her hand. She twitched away, staring out the window with steely determination. "I can't be happy about it yet," she continued in a strained whisper. "Not after the last two times. Not when there's still so much that could go wrong. I can't keep letting myself..." Here Narcissa broke off and glanced down at her lap.
Lucius flashed back to the sick feeling he'd experienced at the Lestrange's while watching the two sisters and realized with a jolt that he had been jealous. For perhaps the first time in his life, he felt a spiky prickle of jealousy watching the sisters together; why should Bellatrix so easily make Narcissa smile with an acerbic quip, pet her reassuringly, when he, her husband, could manage nothing of the sort? Envy was not a familiar sensation and he hated that he should feel it in regard to his wife— it seemed beneath a man of his calibre. People were meant to be envious of him, and it was foolish to wish he could elicit the same response from his wife as her sister did, or (he recalled her laughter with Ari Parkinson at the Samhain gala) her closest friends. Still, it stuck in his throat and constricted his chest almost painfully.
"I suppose," he began carefully. "That is the wisest perspective to take on the matter. However," he added quickly, sensing a storm brewing in her expression. "I do not know if it is a feasible one. This is good news, Narcissa. It will always be good news."
She peeked up at him at last, and he chanced reaching for her gloved hand once more; this time she permitted him to take it. Neither of them spoke much for the remainder of the trip, instead content to watch the countryside far below slide in and out of view between clouds as the sun set and darkness fell. Lucius did not relinquish her hand until they were pulling up the gravel drive of the Manor.
For the next week and a half Lucius was permitted to dwell in the convivial circumstance of being in possession of a thoroughly comforted and happily pregnant wife. However this pleasant situation lasted only until around noon on Wednesday the next, when Narcissa's urgent cries drew him from his desk and into her music room, where he found her doubled over on the piano bench in tears. This time when he left, Marlowe merely nodded to Lucius as if to say "I'll be seeing you soon."
Lucius very nearly considered not visiting her after the healer departed. He was not certain he could hide his frustration, and did not want Narcissa to think it was directed at her; rather, it stemmed from an overwhelming sense of uselessness on his own part. He was faced with a situation that he could not bribe, buy, or bully his way out of— there wasn't even a grueling high road to take, if he had so desired. After downing a quick drink he steeled himself and entered her room, finding her looking as pale and miserable as the past two times. It was exhausting for him— he could scarcely imagine the toll it was taking on her.
"It's been a bloody awful year, Narcissa," he began frankly, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. "Perhaps we ought to... take a break for a while. I'll begin taking contraceptive potions again and you can have a chance to rest and recover. We'll go abroad; we never made it to South America last time. Or perhaps..." he hated himself even as he made the suggestion, but at this point was utterly desperate. "I've an associate who breeds Crups, perhaps if you had a pet, you might—"
"Lucius, no." She was staring up at him, aghast. "Each time this has happened, I think to myself that you can't possibly handle it any worse than the last time, and then you go and prove me wrong. The only thing worse than trying and failing to have a child would be not trying at all."
Beginning in the next few weeks, Lucius started to notice that the Manor was quieter than usual. Generally there was a steady stream of callers for his wife: she enjoyed acting as hostess and did so often and with aplomb. At first he assumed that she was out on visits more frequently than normal, but whenever he cared to check, she could be found within minutes either in the gardens, library, or solarium (after the third miscarriage, she seemed to shy away from the music room that had once brought her such happiness). She had little to say to him at meals, and seemed to be retreating more and more into books— the novels she had always loved on occasion, but oftener brochures on pregnancy and, strangely, old tomes on curses that she had pilfered from his collection.
He tried to talk her into a trip to the Argentine, and when she tiredly declined he suggested more local excursions, but she could not even be persuaded to go see Tosca at Covent Garden. All of his propositions were met with a gentle shake of her head, inviting no further discussion on the matter. At first he tried to stay close to the Manor in hopes that the fog would lift, but as the weeks turned into months he began to devise more reasons to be away from home. He spent so much time at the Ministry that he began to grate on the nerves of even those who usually did not mind his presence. He set up meetings with wizards seeking capital investment, meetings that he usually actively avoided and considered beneath his notice. There was of course always the option of wasting his days hunting and drinking with Rodolphus, but he felt restless doing so and besides, Bellatrix made a point to make him feel unwelcome and served as a thorny reminder that he was avoiding his wife.
They were still having sex, occasionally, and despite what were clearly her best efforts Narcissa was not able to persuade him that she was enjoying herself. He did not have the slightest doubt that she was still grieving the loss of their unborn children, but she persisted doggedly in very much the same manner he imagined she would practice an infuriatingly difficult piece of music or incantation, grimly and mercilessly for an eventual positive outcome. Neither of them derived much pleasure from the act, and afterwards she physically withdrew from him once more. Emotionally, she never engaged at all.
Wednesday, 16 August 1978
"Is everything alright, Narcissa?" But he knew it was not; he could count on now hand the number of times she had interrupted him in his study, instead waiting for supper to discuss household matters with him or after they retired to their room for more personal conversations. She was dressed in rigidly tailored brocade robes and wore kidskin gloves, several pieces of folded parchment pinched in the fingers of her left hand. Clearly she had just come in, but he did not know from where. He did not look particularly distraught; in fact the steely determination in her gaze and set of her jaw made him rather uncomfortable, though he couldn't place why. He had a strange sense of deja vu as she entered and sat before his desk. When he gestured towards the liquor cabinet in wordless offering and she shook her head stiffly, he realized at last: he was recalling the day she had come from France to deride him for the sale of her home. Her attitude could then only mean that she was very angry with him; however, this time he felt distinctly wrong-footed, as he did not know what he might have done to upset her so immensely.
"I'm going to talk, Lucius, and I need to you listen. You are not going to like what I have to say, but I am going to say it and you will not interrupt me." She set the papers down on the desk, out of his reach, and pressed both palms to the rich wood, fingers spread wide as if looking to root herself in place. Lucius nodded, cautiously accepting the terms, but summoned a decanter of scotch nonetheless, quite certain he would need a drink for whatever was coming next.
"I've just come back from St. Mungo's with the results of a number of tests." Her eyes followed the motion of his hands as he deftly poured a measure of deep gold liquid into a tumbler, but she did not lift them to meet his gaze. "As it turns out, I am very healthy. Regular ovulation, Fallopian tubes unblocked and undamaged, uterine tissue and cervix both normal and healthy."
Lucius raised an eyebrow but said nothing, occupying his mouth with alcohol rather than words. She was perfectly aware of the reputational risks of seeking healthcare from an institution open to the masses; it was fortunate for her that all the results had come back in her favor. There were a number of individuals who would pay dearly for damaging information related to the wellbeing of the Malfoy family. She had said nothing Healer Marlowe had not confirmed after her first miscarriage— she was well, there was no reason that she should not be able to carry a child to term. They had merely been unlucky so far.
"That's not all." Her fingers curved slightly, long, carefully shaped nails pressing against the polished surface. "Actually… perhaps I will have a glass of wine."
For the sake of something do, Lucius rose to his feet to pursue the labels of several bottles before selecting one for her. "Pray continue," he added over his shoulder as placed his wand at the mouth of the bottle, running it around the rim to cut the foil and withdrawing the cork with a practiced flick. She thanked him with a nod as he brought her the glass and took his seat once more.
"So, as I've said.. There's no reason that I should not be able to have a child… and..." she took a deep gulp of wine here. "There is also no reason you should not."
"Of course there isn't," he agreed with a confused frown. Did they not have repeated indications of that fact?
"Yes, well." Her cheeks flushed a faint pink and she took a drink. "I gathered a sample and provided it to my Healer for evaluation and confirmation."
He was less stunned by her duplicitousness than the vulgarity of the act, the crude thought of her vanishing into the bath after sex to gather the fluids from inside her body, placing them in a vial for later evaluation. Of course Marlowe would never have agreed to it; she must be paying her own Healer, he realized, to run the necessary tests without his presence or consent… a very foolishly brave Healer, knowing exactly who he would be crossing in performing the tests… but there would be time to deal with that later.
"In essence," she spoke more quickly now, correctly sensing that he would not let he continue uninterrupted for much longer. "There is no physical reason why we should not yet have a child."
Lucius opened his mouth angrily, ready to berate her for exposing their personal affairs to scrutiny and gaining no insight from it; however she was anticipating this and held up a hand to indicate she had not finished. "All of this is supported by the numerous successful impregnations— conception is not the issue." She took a deep breath and long sip of wine. "After these tests were finished, the Healer asked me if it was possible that either of us had been placed under any hexes. I knew that was a potential risk, so you may have noticed I've not left the Manor often these past few months, and minimized the number of visitors, hosting no one except those closest and most trusted… of course, I could not expect the same of you, but it seemed unlikely; all known fertility-related hexes placed upon men would prevent conception, not cause me to miscarry. I explained this to the Healer, and finally was offered one final possibility— the most frightening and difficult to overcome and, I believe, the most likely." For several long seconds she did not speak. She finished her wine and set the empty glass down; utterly in her thrall, Lucius did not think to refill it. "A blood malediction."
Lucius rose to his feet at once, fury overtaking him at last. "Impossible! And a very serious accusation to make, Narcissa... to accuse the Malfoy family of such a weakness... one of the oldest and purest lines in the history of wizardkind... and not rife with inherent weaknesses from inbreeding that—"
"Don't," she hissed, eyes narrowing. "Before you insult me and my entire family, you have agreed to listen to what I have to say, and I am not finished yet."
Still fuming, Lucius shot her a furious glare but sat down once more, tipping a large splash of scotch into his tumbler and throwing it down his throat with a practiced jerk of his wrist.
"When the Healer suggested it, I couldn't stop thinking about what you said," she spoke slowly, carefully, and he knew that she had turned these words over in her mind again and again. "You told me that there was an heir born, once a generation. A boy. It doesn't follow any natural patterns. If there was a curse, it may even have been self-inflicted— in general, the pattern has been beneficial to the Malfoy family; its wealth and longevity. I'm not suggesting a weakness or failure."
Ego somewhat assuaged, Lucius refilled his glass more calmly and reached across the desk to refill her wine as well, though his eyes still flashed dangerously.
"But the thing is, Lucius…" she peered into the crimson of her glass, then brought it to her lips. When she set it back down, she met his gaze with frigid resolution. "You've had child already. Have you not?"
He'd told her the truth; he'd told he everything. "As I said before, I don't know—"
"You know enough to find out," she interrupted coldly.
"And if there is a child?"
She took a deep breath, smoothing her hair back from her face and not yet giving him a direct answer. "None of this has been easy. For me to say or, I am sure, for you to hear." For a split second there was a softness to her voice, a brief glimpse of tenderness, but she suppressed it with sangfroid once more. "But what I am going to say next will be even more difficult." Narcissa swallowed more Bordeaux and pressed on; the alcohol coloring her cheeks and giving her the false courage to proceed. "The way I see it, there are several courses of action if you already have a child by another woman and cannot have another. We could find a discreet Healer and find a donor by whom I could become impregnated and carry a child to term."
"And you expect me to raise some other man's bastard?" Lucius sneered. "Obviously that is untenable. What are your other ideas?"
Narcissa tapped the nail of her pointer finger several times against the desk, the only sign of her discomfort. "Let me make something clear, Lucius. I will have child, and I will be a mother. I'd like it if you were the father— that would be ideal— but it will happen one way or another. If that idea does not appeal to you… then we need to consider the annulment of our marriage."
"Annulment?" Lucius echoed derisively. "I hardly think we qualify for that, my dear."
She took a steadying breath. "We might, if we are able to provide sufficient evidence that we are unable to produce a child due to the circumstances of our union. These tests rule out the possibility of physical impairment, it's true, but through process of elimination and further study we may be able to find concrete evidence of a curse and pre-existing, singular heir."
Lucius closed his eyes with a sharp exhalation and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and middle finger. "No." Losing her was not a viable option. "What else?" he asked through gritted teeth.
"That's it, Lucius," she replied silkily, lifting her glass to swirl the remaining liquid with a quirk of her wrist. "Unless…"
"Yes, unless?" he growled impatiently, though a growing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach was giving him some idea at what her next suggestion would be.
"Unless it turned out there was no child after all. Or no child… any longer."
"Do you understand what you're asking?" he insisted, almost desperately. "Angelique's son or daughter— Narcissa, it's not as though I recognize the child as my heir, it was just a dalliance that led to a pregnancy, I don't think it has anything to do with our current issues."
"You don't think," she repeated quietly. "You don't know though. Can you refute any of these tests?" She shoved the parchments across the desk towards him that she'd brought with her. "Can you think of another solution? Or will you just keep saying 'give it time' for years, as I suffer one miscarriage after the next, until it is too late for me to bear a child of my own?"
"Narcissa," his voice was ragged, and his fingers curled hopelessly against the unforgiving wood of his desk. "Do you understand what you're asking me to do? If I find her and there is a child? What you are asking me to do based on a mere possibility?"
"I'm only asking you to correct a mistake you have willfully made," she replied savagely, her demeanor becoming more ferocious with the weakening of his resolve. "I've laid out several paths for you to do so, and now you must decide for yourself which of them you can live with."
Monday, 21 August 1978
"Oh, Malfoy, come in," Millicent Bagnold waved him in warmly with what appeared to be a photograph. The other occupant of the office turned, his beam instantly sliding into an expression of wary dislike.
"Ah, Lucius." He hastily stuffed a stack of pictures into his pocket and reached to retrieve the one Millicent still held, but Lucius was faster; he crossed the small office and snatched it away with a flick of his wrist. The photo showed two small, identical boys, grinning widely and waving fat fists, with matching tufts of flaming red hair.
"Dear god, Weasley," Lucius drawled, tossing the picture back to its owner, unable to hide his distaste. "Still breeding? How many is it now, a score?"
Arthur Weasley colored an unpleasant puce as he fumbled to catch the discarded photograph without creasing it. "Fred and George are number four and five," he replied tersely. "Molly and I consider ourselves remarkably lucky." Lucius sneered.
"Well I suppose with a name like "weasel" it can hardly come as a surprise that your kind demonstrates a rodent-like prolificacy." As he spoke he let his gaze fall pointedly on the turned hem of Arthur's robe, the meticulously mending leaving it several inches too short. "You know, if you didn't keep spawning so many mouths to feed, you might be able to afford—" he broke off suddenly, catching a glimpse of Bagnold's shocked expression out of the corner of his eye. Occasionally he forgot that not all his associates shared his same repulsion for vermin.
"Anyway. Congratulations," he managed through gritted teeth. "Millicent, do you have a moment? There's an important matter I was hoping to discuss with you," he continued, making sure to heavily insinuate that any matter Arthur Weasley might have brought to the department head's attention could not have been of any significance.
"All set then, Arthur?" she confirmed before agreeing to the request. Weasley replied with a terse nod, first to her then Lucius, and brushed agitatedly from the office. Millicent offered Lucius a stern look. "Alright." She leaned back in her chair and spun fully around once. When she faced him again, she was grinning. "I'm very busy and important now Lucius, haven't you heard?"
Despite himself, he grinned back. "Short list for the Minister isn't a guarantee, don't get cocky," he warned, sliding into a seat before her desk. "It's months before elections and unless someone calls for a vote of no confidence in Minchum, you wouldn't be in office until January, the year after next."
"It's a pity you aren't in the Wizengamot, isn't it? I know you'd call one for me."
"Well if you can oust Dumbledore as Chief Warlock and reinstate the House of Lords, I'm sure I could be of assistance." The offer was not entirely made in jest. Prior to Dumbledore's ascension to the role in the 1920's, there had been a much stronger pureblood presence in the Wizengamot. The combination of Dumbledore's appointment to the role and Nobby Leach's election had greatly diminished the strength of the old families in England, and if Lucius could use his personal friendship with Millicent to aid their return, he would not hesitate. She was, however, a public servant and slave to popular opinion, and it was unlikely he could make any direct progress there. It had been half a century, and popular opinion leaned towards permissiveness concerning Mudbloods and their ilk.
"Some days I feel like Dumbledore is the only thing keeping He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named from swallowing us whole," Millicent sighed, reaching for a half-eaten scone and taking a hurried bite, a shower of crumbs falling unnoticed to her lap. "I probably shouldn't show you this, but it's going to print tomorrow morning anyway." She thrust a sheet of paper in his direction, and he kept his expression carefully neutral as he read. "Volsung in London, can you believe it? I thought they were a myth, or at least a long time gone. They're absolutely terrorizing the Muggles, as I'm sure you can imagine, but they've frightened more than few wizards as well."
"Upsetting," he agreed blandly, unwilling to engage on the topic. "Millicent, I don't even know if you'll remember this, but a time back you had to pass a dozen or so clearances for a witch heading to Uagadou for a post-graduate potions degree. This must have been February of '76?"
"Yes." Naturally she did, Millicent famously had perfect recall regarding any minute detail of her job, but had been seen more than one arriving to the office in mismatched shoes. "Angelique Begaye, an American witch but with residency in the UK studying under Slughorn. I spent days writing letters on her behalf and flooing border patrols to explain why she was carrying a Venomous Tentacula, among other things."
"Do you know if she ever made it to the Mountains of the Moon?" he inquired in what he hoped was a disinterested tone.
"She did, she sent me a lovely Wiggentree bonsai as a thank you gift."
"Is she still there?"
Millicent tilted her head, curious but not yet suspicious at his line of questioning. "I have no idea. Is she a friend of yours?"
"More of an acquaintance. We have a bit of unfinished business... I think she may have something of mine."